Sweet Immortality
by Faery Tragedy
Summary: The story of a certain Elf's flirtations and campaigns. Lord Glorfindel lives in miserable immortality until he meets something oddly worth fighting for-a mortal woman.
1. Chapter OnexThe Closure of Battle

A/N: Basically, I own everything you _don't_ recognize. I love getting reviews. Ahem. And I shall henceforth treat anyone who gives me them as godly figures. *g*

Sweet Immortality

"Get in the boats, all of you, for I have no time to tarry in these forlorn forests," ordered a strong, stately voice. The haunting dim light befell the forest. It seemed as though all was immensely quiet, neither animal nor elf making a sound. With great notice, a chill partook in the hearts of the small party, widening their sorrow and mishap. The wounded carried the wounded and those who were struck by neither sword nor arrow guided them. Every face wore the expression of grimness. And each who stepped into the boat felt a sensation of helplessness, for they were only a small raiding party traveling thither.

A single Elf, face white and drawn, approached what seemed to be the captain and said thusly: "Sir, Githran has fallen behind. I confess, we kept no close eye on him for we were caring for the other wounded." The soldier's eyes were desperate and searching, dependent only on the hope, which the captain bestowed upon him. At the corners of his lips were the traces of dried blood, and upon his brow was a distinctive scar which also shown of blood.

"Then go back and fetch him! I have little time for this. The wounded are dying, so be quick!" Snapped the captain. His gray eyes were quickened and alert, tongue tart with sharp answers.

"Aye, Lord Glorfindel!" And thusly he followed an unmarked trail into the mossy forest.

The captain stepped forward onto the emerald bank of the narrow river. His eyes looked yonder, surveying and estimating the trek home. Rolling hills, shadowed by the day's end, lay ahead. The unnamed river cut between them. The Elves were mumbling and grunting, though never too loud. When they were seated in the three boats (none of which very large); they seated the wounded upon their laps. A thick smell of blood and death lingered.

Lord Glorfindel waited impatiently for the elf soldier to return. Finally, through the mist of the forest, he saw yonder a running figure. Alas! only one came hither. The captain was in puzzlement and said thusly: "Where is Githran? Has he fallen behind again?" Came from Glorfindel was a hint of sarcasm. Ordinarily, he was rather a gentle and kind Elf, however, when the burden of life or death was upon his shoulders, he did not hesitate to do whatever was needed to return them to safety.

"My lord, Githran has been slain. I saw his body, limbs outstretched upon the ground. I thought he was alive, for I saw no blood, however, upon stepping closer, I found he had been shot from behind," responded the elf, voice in sorrow and fear, "I am sorry, captain."

"Be sorry only that you wasted the time of my troops and me. Now, get into the boat so that we may leave!" Glorfindel ordered strictly. He was heavily disappointed and dismayed. Never once had he left a soldier to the wilderness and o! he made a promise to himself he would never do it again. The raiding party paddled slowly through the serene water. Whether it was a wounded body or wounded spirits, Glorfindel did not know. He decided not to urge them forward when it was not necessary, for they were already fell of heart. It was better, he agreed, to keep those who are able-bodied well, than cause further wounded ones.

They traveled at a slow pace, though steadily. By nightfall, yonder looked Glorfindel, only to find lightening in the distance. Even in the darkest hours of night, he could see the clouds mold themselves and consume the sky. A heavy downpour came at little past midnight as far as he could ponder. He pulled what little materials and cloaks he could find over the wounded especially, and if there were any remaining, gave them to the soldiers. And the rain fell hard, yet neither wind nor lightening progressed any farther. It was only rain that beckoned them to paddle no more.

"Lord Glorfindel!" An Elf called. His voice was carried by the harshness of the wind. "The rainfall is far too difficult to paddle against. I fear we must make rest."

"Indeed. Then so be it. Aniolad, give me what rope we have. We must secure the boats, lest we become separated in this harsh weather!" Called he. The rain, with the addition of distance, made it difficult to hear. Nonetheless, yonder, he could still make out just enough of the first boat to throw the rope across. The Elf lord pulled on it, securing the tightness of the rope. Thusly, he threw it to the third boat and did the same.

He called: "Now, both boats must bound the rope to a tree. Make haste!" The soldiers surrounding him, fell of sorrow and lacking hope, pulled the cloak over one another, including the captain, and attempted to get as much sleep as possible, though they were wet and numb.

At the break of dawn, the storm had indeed subsided, leaving the day fresh and new. Glorfindel could clearly see the last of the darkened clouds in the distance, wandering off to cause turmoil once again. He was thankful that was the last of it, for neither his party nor him could withstand their sorrow personified one more time. Was it the respect his had for Lord Elrond or the respect he had for himself that led him to continue he did not know.

The weather was still quite chilly, being it the early months of spring. As the soldiers awoke from their joyless sleep, he signaled for the elves to untie the rope so that they may be on their way. This time, they traveled with great speed. The soldiers were rather gladdened at the sight of the new morning. It held no death, which was rare. However, near mid-day, an elf soldier saw in the great distance a darkened cloud, which progressed at a harsh speed toward them. Glorfindel had decided upon himself to be prepared. Yonder, he could vaguely see a small expanse connected to more land which led to the rolling hills he had seen the entire journey.

"Lord, the storm is approaching very rapidly. Shall we make camp? Lest, we shall endure the same fate as last night and abide this harshness!" Called a strong voice from the first boat.

The Elf lord pulled the last of the rope, which remarkably, was still damp and said thusly: "Indeed. You there, bound your boat to the tree so we may reach land."

As this was done, the early stages of the storm were visible in the distance. The thunder was quite doughty, and before it raged, came the lightning. Glorfindel felt the boats moving at a slower pace toward the retreat. The air smelled strongly of rain already. The drear sight of the trees, which lay nearly bare and forsaken, was chilling. Even now, everything was hauntingly serene and silence. Not an Elf or fragment of nature dared stir.

And followed the serenity came the rain. It fell unkindly, reaching every corner of their sight, it seemed. Glorfindel had ordered to grab all the wares from the boats and guide the boats to shore. The wounded soldiers were half-unconsciously following him, dizzied and stumbling even on flat ground. He also ordered the Elves to search for any sign of a forlorn cave. It would serve as shelter.

"In this ill weather, I have come across a cave! Make haste! Come!" They heard. The wounded still continued to guide the wounded, while the able-bodied brang the things from the boats. Glorfindel wore the face of gloominess and misfortune, as though he had given up hope. _Shall we ever escape this horrid storms and finally arrive hither to Rivendell? _He questioned himself time upon time.

The cave was indeed forsaken. It seemed as though it had never been touched and very well may have not. The soldiers walked inside carefully, being as there was not a single lantern lit. It was large enough to only fit the small party of elves and nothing more, thankfully. The captain decreed for the few blankets they had to be spread out across the hard cave floor and the remaining lanterns to be lit. However, there were only two blankets and one lantern to be the victim of use. Glorfindel silently swore at this grave misfortune but concluded it could be worse. Finally, this was done and by the time it was, the harsh rumbling of the storm seemed like it was overhead their very cave. From their restricted sight, they saw the waves class against the boats, each worrying they would be only jetsam by the time the storm was over. The lee served as an especially shielding haven, they confessed.

The storm seemed to linger on for hours upon hours.

"My lord, how long do you deem this ill weather shall linger?" Asked a soldier.

"I suppose until dusk, perhaps longer. It does not seem as though it shall subside. All in favour of tarrying here tonight, say 'aye'," said he.

And throughout the small cave, an 'aye' came from every Elf, whether wounded or no. It was agreed upon that no one wanted to face another storm, if it should come. In addition, no soldiers had rested in days as peacefully as such. Glorfindel, seeing as tales of bravery and gallantry were not yet spoken of, removed the large sheath, pulled out the few arrows which remained and counted them. _Four_. There were but _four_ to defend himself with if, by chance, another onslaught would come to pass. There was no use trying to make new ones, for the remainder of the feathers used to make them had been lost in the fighting. If neither rain nor orc raids came to pass, the captain recollected the journey home would take as long as two weeks. And this was only if the circumstances were favourable, however, upon the two days in which they had journeyed already, they had not been.

"O! how I covet the majesty of Rivendell," said an Elf, "And to see the high terraces or even the setting sun through the arch-windows would amount to any glory this whole journey put together would be!"

Glorfindel turned to the soldier, who was kneeling against a wall of the cave, "Indeed. But we should not let what we want conceal what we have."

"Lord Glorfindel, we are not wishing of things amiss, but giving ourselves hope!" He called once more, in a slightly harsher tone. "And pray, if we do not provide hope, than we are fated to remain gloomy and dreary as you-"

"Ealilid! Silence yourself, please," called another Elf. Glorfindel sat staring at them though not angrily but in pity for himself. He looked away, and no longer satisfied with sitting, rose from the floor and paced toward the entrance. The elf lord's head was hung low and saddened by the fact that the truth had spilled from one's lips. It was no longer shrouded in his dismal mind. And in his glowing blonde hair was matted against the tunic and skin harshly pale with no marks except those of swords. His leggings and tunic were slightly torn in places, though none of which revealing enough. But through the distinction if his eyes could one see the true torture bestowed upon him, his company, and all he wept for. The captain's comrades sat with a slight pain of guiltiness. Each was huddled around an invisible fire, which did not seem to warm them.

Paldun, the soldier who had bluntly silenced Ealilid, spoke thusly: "We are all tired and filled with frustration. Let us go to sleep!"

"No, I refuse to let this matter go untouched. Glorfindel, I am heavily sorry for saying what I had said, though, I must confess, it is true," Ealilid said with perhaps too much sympathy. "We are beings that strive to remain happy. It is the bliss and joy of our lives and existence that keeps us alive. It is as though we are only alive because we choose to be. My lord, it is wholly acknowledged that, we can indeed die of broken hearts. And love for your comrades, love for your king, or love for yourself can be shattered in an instant. Or, in your case, Lord Glorfindel, over the centuries."

No one dared speak. The silence was long, almost deathly save the thick sound of thunder and rain.

At last, the captain turned around and spoke calmly: "And you think that I am not aware of it? It is a harsh fate the Valar have bestowed upon us. Men, dwarves, and even hobbits must not abide by this ill doom. I very well know that our very lives depend on the amount of sorrow present in them. Fate is an enormously hard thing to break, as you all well know." His face was grave, and shadowed by the dim flame and cave walls. "And I am not about to go and thusly break my own because of petty worries and complaints! I have learned that my life, akin to yours as well, is difficult and shan't stray from difficult until our last breath. I do not weep for myself and my single fate, but instead for those who do not realize their own." He suddenly seized his arrows from the still ground and said thusly: "Now, I think we shall all take Paldun's advice into consideration and go to sleep. I am weary of such debating after a long days journey, and erstwhile fighting." They all agreed with them. The sound of rain came down lighter as the night grew on, more gentle, as though the heaviest part was done and over with and there was nothing but happiness to be accounted for.

When morning broke, there was nothing but the sweet-smelling dew and gentle water to remind them of the horrible storm the night before. The boats were furthermore there, rocking serenely to the gentle ripples of the water. The crest of the rolling hills yonder where shaded by nothing save the warm rays of the sun. Despite the cold and harsh storm, Glorfindel and his party was certainly sure the last of the fierce storm was finally at rest. Hence, a long day's journey was at hand. There would be no interruptions and no retreats to caves.

The final soldiers woke up when it was still chilly. Thusly, they departed westward and to the kingdom of Rivendell.

*

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	2. Chapter TwoxThe Death Scene

Well, it has been a v. long time since I last updated. Too long. XD. (For all of you who don't know what XD mean, turn your head left.) I'm sorry to be keeping anyone who still remotely cares about this fic waiting, but I've been really busy. Please, for the love of your tickets to the TTT Premier, review!

Chapter Two:

When they reached the forlorn campsite, the Elven raiding party decided to stop, foray what they could, and camp there for the night. A thickened smell of blood hung in the air and it was to their dismay in which they found a massacre of dead soldiers at the steep of the hills. As soon as the Lord Glorfindel turned the burning flame of the lantern on the sight, a chill ran up his body. A haunting scene was to behold. They looked around wildly and inhaled deeply to any sort of breath they could find. The camp was indeed deserted. Black, gray, and the green of the grass was the only colours it seemed to hold save the crimson, which had faded, into the grass. Even upon the dead of night, it was still a haunting sight. The drear surrounding of the slain and the thick smell of blood was nothing new to them, though seeing them was an endeavoring task still. And o! he held the light up higher, as a silent form of any sign of life. Though, secretly, he knew there was no vigor left to be found at this camp of men, only blood and death.

Tarried and dismal battle flags were struck into the ground as violently as the bearer had. The hollow wind carried the remaining cloth slightly, and it appeared that was the only other thing moving. Dead bodies, fifty or sixty even, covered the hillside, some with eyes open blankly, never going to shut and resume to felicity. Others were frozen in a gloomy position, pierced with objects, sometimes their own. Other foul stenches lingered in the air. A thickened smell of decaying flesh and sweat added to the putrid scent. Glorfindel and others of his party had to shortly look away. Indeed, they had seen blood and death in this haunting time, though the drear sight of it all was massively disgusting. Something stirred in the captain's stomach, something that made him instantly turn away, as though if he looked away it would all go away. Despite his ill affliction, the dead and the rotting where still there for all to see.

The sharp and outspoken Ealilid broke the heavy silence, "I think, perhaps, out of respect for the dead, we should be on our way. We are of Elven heritage and spoils of war from the slain before us would cost too much to our honour and pride, my friends. My notion is that we return to the boats and find a safer, less," he searched for a word that was neither hateful nor melodramatic, "barbaric sight."

"Indeed," sighed Lord Glorfindel. He bore himself erect once more. His gray eyes steadied on the gross sight, like he could never once take them off, like he was too intrigued by death to see the life of his fellow comrades. And beyond his pride and stiff face lay pity. The captain clenched his teeth together and stepped forward into the ghostly sight. His comrades had left him and returned to the boat, yet he had remained and thus ventured further toward the dead. There also lay tents, only two out of the ten still erect. Each were torn to the point of little comfort, warmth, or protection from the harsh weather which was borne only several months ago. The air was still quite nippy and preserved the disgusting scent.

All was immensely silent as Glorfindel managed to search the bodies for any sign of proof he could bare back to Rivendell as a reminder to his lord Elrond of the massacre near Gondor. Finally, he saw a dagger clenched to a man's hand. Alas! it finally struck Glorfindel that the entire scene seemed to be preserved in all its bloody glory. Each man was precisely where he was when he died. Each movement and pose was ever frozen in horror. He let little time pass. Suddenly, the captain bent down and attempted to move the dagger from a dirty and gory hand. Upon the handle of this specific dagger was the embroidered symbol of Gondor. _This would surely make due_. He pondered. However, the soldier of Gondor let no part from his dagger, lest his bones in the hand would be broken. So, they were. And whereupon the disgust of this, Glorfindel dropped the dagger in horror, retrieved it quickly, and hastily ran back to the boat, hiding it deeply within his cloak.

The boat traveled another four miles before settling near a shore's brook. Ripples of the water came silently, serenely, and thereafter not a word was spoken. The precise ringlet of the moon shone ever so brightly and made the chance of hope brighter than ever against the darkened sky of small stars.

As the soldiers begun to awake from the early hours of the morning, it was still, indifferently, as cold as a morning borne in spring could be. The captain had completely forgotten of the drear haunted sight, but only remembered when he found the gory dagger within a pocked of his cloak. He studied it carefully, seeing carvings that formed an intricate pattern then wove into a circle. Glorfindel decided upon himself against washing it off, although it was quite disgusting, so Lord Elrond may see the horrors of the last raid.

"Lord Glorfindel, whence have you retrieved that dagger? You had it not before we arrived at the ill sight," Paldun concluded. He was solemnly standing behind the captain, staring at the curious weapon. He continued: "It is not of Elven make. Pray, tell me where you have found that dagger. It is quite beautiful indeed, and I think it may be of Rohan, or a mortal's land, judging from the design." The Elf lord turned to look at him, with dire criticism and said: "Paldun, I found this at the campsite last night. When you had left for the boats, I took this from a man of Gondor," Glorfindel dared not explain what his eyes had witnessed when he stepped farther into the darkness on that dread night. Paldun did not question him beyond, but instead propose to leave.

They were upon their journey again. The heavy hearts of those who had witnessed the chilling sight led the boats to move along tediously. However, once inspired by the thoughts of warm food and bed and forsook the thought of death, the three boats moved along at an impressive speed. The water was greatly still, nothing in the sky save the burning sun, though however high and glorious it seemed, the day was still lifeless. It was a cold spring day where the only thing one being could desire the company of their neighbours and kin. The wounded soldiers were fell of the injuries, yet their spirits were not. Any scent of blood, sweat, or human decay that still lingered was replaced by the fresh smell of the early morning dew and such.

Although the day was rather cold and clear, yonder bore a fog. It was a fairly light mist and the elves had little mishap with such a feat. Their eyesight proved excellent and so did their hopes for reaching Rivendell. For in three days, upon good weather and quick traveling, they would arrive near the shore of their beloved Kingdom.

Neither captain nor soldiers spoke during the journey but a small phrase or inquiry for water or their thoughts of home.

Near dusk of the next night, upon a great distance, Glorfindel descried the torches of a welcoming party at hand. The torches were all held together likes little fireflies, swarming around, never staying in the same place longer than an instant. The night was perfectly clear.

"Another mile, I suppose, and we shall be home!" Announce Glorfindel, though wearily. Thusly, the boats were made faster, those who would paddle madly struck the water with the oars. Each furlong guaranteed their hopes of hospitality, pretty maidens, and a feast which did not include only lembas and salty bread and water. They would be free to do as they please until the next campaign would come to pass. As they approached the rather muddy shore of the shore of the outskirts of Rivendell, Glorfindel could distinctively see an elven figure advance toward the three boats. He bore keen, gray eyes and a long, straight nose. The lord's hair was silky black, as ebony as that of a raven, and pulled back were two strands from either side. His forehead seemed slightly too large, features slightly too narrow and precise. He was beautiful, nonetheless. The Lord Elrond was an extremely handsome being, fault permitted. The elf approached and a quicker pace now, grinning. His robe and outer garments were lengthy and rippling as he walked with elegance and primness. Several other elves walked chiefly with him, one other Glorfindel knew well and could easily identify.

"I take great honour in welcoming you back to Rivendell, Lord Glorfindel," explain the lord, "You have fought bravely and rewardingly for yourselves and your kingdom, my friends and comrades. Now, especially, I should think you would want to hear no more talk of your good deeds from me and I think what is truly in order are good baths, a warm bead, and more than you can eat, nay?"

"Oh, please, you are too generous, Elrond. I hope I, on behalf of the soldiers before you, ask, with little greed or pride, if that commodity could be arranged. We have traveled hither from a long seven weeks of battle and harsh campaigning and all that we request now is shelter and generosity, both of which you have kindly supplied," said he. Glorfindel's eyes were sharply and distinctively gladdened by the notion of these things. His eyes were sparkling in fact, under the graveness of the shadow that befell them.

Elrond ordered the party of nearly thirty soldiers to follow him into the kingdom of Rivendell. Also, he requested healers for those severely fell of injuries and wounds, though their spirits were not.

In the earliest hours of the morning, after a long-awaited and blissful repose (or the elven equivalence of such), Glorfindel awoke, refreshed and revieved. The bathing house was quite filled when he arrived. He found the morning more satisfying than he imagined, even in his dreams. Servants of his lord Elrond brought him fresh fruits and small delicacies as such, and especially wine, to help heal the loss of food suffered throughout much of the battles. Though the most satisfying thing he experienced all morning was the sight of his soldiers caught not in a fray, not wounded, but happy.

The bathing house was grand him the captain, everything, anything was. Columns connecting to the majestic roofs and arches embroidered the bathing hall. A light from a large window stirred gently on the waters surface. It was a rectangle building, sweet smell of flowers and fruit there for a all to indulge in. And o! the servants were scurrying back and forth, bringing trays of food and goods to the elves which sat wearied and wounded, but exceptionally blissful. Glorfindel sat in a light milky robe that reached his ankles. The water was elegantly warm, though nothing hot. He sat upon the first of five stairs and embraced in the glory of relaxation, for nothing to this extent of happiness and ease had ever presented itself in the two months of tedious bloodshed.

The reason for the bathing house was not particularly for bathing, but to relax in hot water and be given food straight from the Lord Elrond's kitchen. It was a glorious establishment that served a higher purpose than social gathering. The bathing halls was a statement of the elven custom of no feudal system or classes defined. Every grape and chalice of wine was Elrond's own for the usage of his kingdom and that is a single instance which separated the elves from the humans of Arda.

The sharp glare of Paldun struck him like a whip. The young elven soldier bore himself hither and to the place where Glorfindel resigned. He sat himself down on the first step as well, finger idly swirling within the serene water.

"Did you give our lord Elrond that dagger you found?" He asked. "I thought you would have, seeing as you ventured in the darkness all lone just to recover it, not to mention take it from that Gondor man's very hand!" Paldun's features were greatly handsome, though his eyes were further intense than Glorfindel's own. The circled surrounding the pupil was the darkest blue ever seen since that of the ancient elves, his skin was a creamy colour, marble even, flawless, nose narrow, and lips thin but rich in colour. He never admitted himself handsome, though an exact picture of an ancient Elf was remembered when looking at Paldun. The beauty of the ancient elves and mystery of them was greatly remembered.

"I have not, I confess. Though, I shall," there was something the elf lord was hiding, indeed, Paldun concluded. "Why do you distress yourself over my petty matter?"

"Lord Glorfindel, as much as I give you my high regard and as much as I honour and respect you and your position, I know, surely, you did not venture into that graveyard just to retrieve proof of war," Paldun spilled. His lips were shaking whereupon thus was said.

The sorrowful Elf turned toward him, "Indeed not. But please, I do not wish to further myself in a conversation in a public bathing house. Paldun, my comrade, you know the reason or in time, surely will."

It's just right there. Just, click. Not v. difficult. Just right there. Just a box. Simple click..


	3. Chapter ThreexThe Arrival of Prince Imra...

A/N: Thank you everyone for the kind reviews. I'm dead serious. It was like Christmas all over again. XD. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Three:

          Glorfindel had forgotten entirely the bliss of late spring. All the loveliness of the flowers in bloom and heartiness of the ripened sun were strangely forgotten in these days of gloominess and tears. It was comforting to the Elf to know that after the long and harsh winter of plague and war, there was the happiness of spring. It had been nearly a month since his return from the forlorn battle sight hundreds of miles away. His state of happiness was restored and all the better, had become full again at the mention of a ball to celebrate his grand accomplishments. Glorfindel, as though he may try, never could turn down an offer to a royal ball. His greatest friend, ally, and lordship, was so gracious upon throwing such festivals. And in this great time of war and poverty-stricken lands, the mention of Lord Elrond's ball was the jewel amongst the rocks.

          It was also during the dusk of that fine day which Lord Elrond approached Glorfindel upon his entrance into the Royal Gardens. They were majestically set atop a small hill. Each plant was expertly tended by the lord's servants and not only that, but the setting near columns (in which the vines could exotically coil around) and other places of light and good soil made the garden miraculous for all to see before them.

          "Glorfindel, my dearest friend, I have bore witness to the unhappiness of Rivendell in these last few days. The crest of Darkness has already ascended upon lands to the East and I fear for my own realm as well. But, my good lord, fret not! 'Twill be in the dusk of another night in which I bring ill news of evil to the East. For tonight, I hope to remain content with the thought of livening up Rivendell, for it looks quite drear. The Elves of this realm have rather admitted freely of their fright during these dark years of Arda. And to my vast knowledge, nothing pleases the citizens of Rivendell more fondly and joyously than a ball. 'Tis widely acknowledged that every Elf loves an excuse to brighten up their lives, whether it be in the form of a party or friendship.

          "I declare there shall be a ball, for the reason of your safe returning and bravery during this ill time. I must say, dear Glorfindel, you have clemency and gallantry that you do not give yourself credit for," a slight colour flushed on the lord's cheek as Elrond continued, "It shall be held in my courtyard with the exception of music and dancing near the entry hall. I suppose it could work! And thusly we shall have an extraordinary combination of musicians and chefs. O! Glorfindel, this is splendid! We shall dance until nightfall and past..and I shall invite all the elves and all of the leaders of Gondor and Rohan and Lorien and Mirkwood. O! Glorfindel, see how I fall astray when thinking not of death and darkness, but of happiness? When, my good lord, shall this feast be held?"

          From the Lord of Rivendell's vivid and quite passionate discussion, Glorfindel had not the slightest word to say. He felt he could never amount to such passion and joy his lord held. Instead, with little dullness he concluded: "In a month, sire. That should give us quiet enough time to prepare. I deem this shall be the talk of the kingdoms!"

          "Indeed it will. I shall make it so!" And with that Lord Elrond, who may be too excited for his own good, disappeared into the darkness whence he entered.

          For the next nights, proceeding the party, Lord Glorfindel had wandered the House of Elrond and Rivendell in general, searching for something to keep him occupied. Though, he found nothing but idle talk with the cooks and servants and other inhabitants of the mighty kingdom. The mystical nights he spent alone in his quarters finding nothing more to do, save reading and writing of tales and legends which surely would be stored in the palace's bookshelf for ages to come. And thusly he worked on them every single night with only dim candles and the comfort of the moon rising above his home. He confessed, to himself, and from the narrative of the tales of characters like him, that he was lonely. And he spoke of the "gift" the Valar had given them of eternal happiness in exchange for life.

          However, proceeding one night the ball, game a curious carriage. Small, it may be, but it was royal enough for Elrond himself. Within minutes, Glorfindel, clad in a long white robe and royal red outer garments, hair free and eyes weary with sleep, met with his lord outside the majestic walls of the inner city to greet this exotic carriage. As tired as he may be, the Elf lord was immensely inquiring of this visitor.

          "Lord Glorfindel, why do you walk amiss with me? It is but only the coming of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his three children. Why, they come to every ball!" Lord Elrond explained. The elf's eyes were fixed solely the carriage which, from what he could see, came four figures. The horses were stately and a dapple-gray colour. They indeed looked immensely swift; their build was large.

          "I am surprised they had not bore themselves hither upon the backs of horses!" Cried Glorfindel.

          Elrond replied: "Nay, my friend, for you see, he brings along his youngest child, Amrothos. And with him also are Ephril and Erchirion, of whom Erchirion, I declare, is betrothed to a woman from Gondor. Splendid, I think."

          "And I agree with you, sire, it is splendid indeed," the Elf lord said. He was, for the most part, slightly embarrassed by his choice of garments whereupon greeting as fine of guests as these. Though, now that they had already drawn themselves from their carriage, there would be little use to clad himself in other clothing. In addition, time would be spent and it would be quite rude.

          Prince Imrahil was the last to appear from the handsome carriage. He was a very stately man, built with rather large shoulders and strong limbs, and bold features upon his face. The intensity of his eyes were overwhelming, or so Elrond thought. He was clad in a dark cloak, though made with fine, imported fur, the simplicity of a tunic and leggings, and a rather impressive sheath. The Prince appeared to be royal yet he lacked the snobbery that was commonly associated with majesties.

          Beside him stood his three children and numerous servants, some soldiers. Ephril, Glorfindel confessed, looked rather tall for his age. He was not strongly as built as his father, but nonetheless, did not surpass the quality of strength. The successor had a long face and divine hazel eyes which shown not of the intensity of the Prince's. Instead they were strong, obedient, eyes, never straying from where they should. His nose was slightly hawk-like and firm, and lips were thin but bold with colour. Ephril showed of no beard or mustache, but immensely dark brown hair. He was a very comely creature.

          And to the side of Ephril was Erchirion, who was average height and average build. His face was less long than his brothers, and more oval like his fathers, producing a softer face. The features of his face were not quite as bold as his brother, but darker, more intense were his eyes, alike his father. Erchirion's face was porcelain pale, nose prominent but not large, lips sweet and pink, and hair ashen brown. The most beautiful of his children was Erchirion.

          Finally, Amrothos stood somewhat awkwardly. He was only, perhaps, fifteen or so, which made awkwardness essential. His glance was horridly grim and cast shadows gently on the bottoms of his eyes. He shared the same prim nose as Ephril and the same face as Erchirion. Amrothos's auburn hair lay free on his shoulders. It seemed like silk. His body shape seemed to agree more with the eldest of his brother, Ephril's. There was this fierceness about him, this overwhelming slyness, but still he was as lovely as his brothers.

          "Ah, my good lord, I welcome you to Rivendell," declared Elrond. He brilliantly smiled, though the portion of his face was covered in darkness.

          Prince Imrahil stepped forward, leaving his children and servants before the carriage and said thus: "And I thank you for having me in these times of ill tidings and such. You must keep your wits about you now! I am greatly content that you still have yours, Lord Elrond. Or do you now?"

          A smile played on his face, as well as the Elf-lord's. Glorfindel could not sustain the small smile that creased his lips. Elrond cried: "I do not know! Glorfindel, what do you have to say?"

          Glorfindel stood, mute. How half-witted he seemed! The merry chuckles had ceased before he could finally cry: "My lord, I may very well not have mine either so how am I to judge you?" He smiled sheepishly as Lord Elrond turned to the descendants of Prince Imrahil. But o! did Glorfindel feel helpless! He felt vain and idle, almost as though he was unfit to be in the presence of such a great lord as Elrond Peredhil of Rivendell.

          "It is such a blessing to see you all once more, Erchirion and Ephril! And what have we got here? I see I have never had the honour of meeting you Amrothos. I am Lord Elrond and this is my realm. You are welcomed here under any circumstances if the opportunity should arise," the half-Elf stared curiously into Amrathos's deep, cunning eyes and returned to the prominent company of his dear friend, Imrahil.

          The Prince smiled gracefully and uttered to Glorfindel: "What a pleasure it is speaking with you again. After all, you are Lord Elrond's most trusted of advisers and comrades, are you not?"

          "No, indeed I am, sire," the Elf lord said back, managing a smile. The lantern, which he carried, was grimly tiring and the light had almost ceased to burn.

          "I think this feast is exactly what everyone needs now. The Darkness is growing..swiftly..and a ball will secure everyone that there is still bliss in our hearts, even in the gravest of times," Prince Imrahil said. This conversation was progressing into a fine debate. Glorfindel had to recover from the dim-witting stance he took only moments ago.

          The Elf lord slyly commented: "My lord, but we are hiding the truth from the populace of our regions. If we shroud their heads in dreams of festivals and balls, where will be the threat of war? There must be balance, Prince Imrahil."

          "Are you implying that the Lord Elrond is false?" The man took great pleasure in finding a fault in Glorfindel's words.

          "Indeed not! How mistaken you are," said he, "I am implying no such thing except we must not lead the Free people of Middle Earth that war shall never come, poverty cease from existing, and death only from natural occurrences."

          "How you speak! You are immortal, Glorfindel. Do not burden me with the thought of natural death for I wish not to ponder it."

          "Would you prefer to die in battle, then? Amongst dead corpses, none of which exquisite, and amongst more death and more blood?"

          "If it were to be under the circumstance of honour, then yes!"

          "You preach of your honour and you preach of your loyalty, but you also speak of evading your realm's true problems. There is death in this harsh existence and there is blood and there is mortality and there are those who face none of it. Dol Amroth cannot follow your rule of bliss forever, my lord, for there is death and war beyond what you preach."

          "I am impressed by your unsullied speech," he mocked slightly, "but it has no affect on me whatsoever if my kingdom is heedless or not."

          Elrond finally intervened: "My goodness, how you debate of such things! It is my belief that neither of you have those wits I mentioned earlier." He comely smiled. "Now, I think rest is in order for all of us. Lord Imrahil and your company may follow me. We have already prepared handsome rooms for each of you."


	4. Chapter FourxThe Ball

A/N: I'm back so sorry for not updating. Thanks to everyone who reviews! I promise I will return the favour!

Chapter Four:

                That night it rained. The rain was not a loud, obnoxious storm creeping from the east, but a solemn and graceful downpour. It had rained all night long. The air was fresh with its sweet smell; the smell so distinct and strong, you could practically lick it from the air. A humid cloud hung over Rivendell until late sunrise.

                Lord Glorfindel had remained in the company of Paldun that morning. If he wished, he could join Elrond, though the half-elf was rather busy with the final accommodations. It was the small things that needed to be done that morning. And the lord Elrond could achieve them with little or no help, for it rose his spirits so that now they were more joyous than before.

                Late afternoon, only hours from dusk, Lord Glorfindel still tarried within the chamber of Paldun, waiting anxiously until he could advance himself to dress. Throughout the rather murky day, the clouds had gently subsided. The barren trees were beginning to form new leaves. They were establishing a new time, a rebirth. All was quiet in the realm of Rivendell; however, everyone was anxiously awaiting the ball. It was a personification for the merriment the lords and ladies deserved. It was a gem beneath the fowl crusts of hard and rough rocks.

                And within the soldier's chamber, the bright yellow sun reflected beneath the hardened gray clouds. Glorfindel could not help but be amazed by such a strange beauty. It was indeed strange, but lovely. It was sorrowful, but joyous. It was the majesty, it was the death. It was himself and his immortal soul which could never cease from loneliness.

                "Paldun, my friend, what do you make of this sunset?" He asked upon turned about to view the intense, ancient eyes of the Elf.

                "My lord, it is but a sunset. Is there much to make of it? We have other matters at hand, as you know," said he, "Perhaps we should dress ourselves now. Let us not keep Lord Elrond waiting, and especially yourself. Sire, why are you not with Elrond at this very moment?"

                Glorfindel sighed, "He does not like to be burdened before such an event as this. This gathering needs to be ideal, perfect. Only Elrond can manifest such simplicity, such innocent trickery. We need to hide the lies from the inhabitants of Arda, and if we do not succeed in this, hope will be lost. And when hope is lost, my friend, then all is." He sat upon a rich, handsome bench in the chamber, remotely staring into they mysterious sky. "This ball will decide more than you may think, Paldun."

                "And what, pray, shall this ball decide?" Paldun inquired slyly, "I do not like your jesting, sire."

                "Figure it out yourself. You have wit. You have knowledge. And only time will tell, as I have spoken of before," the Elf replied hotly.

                "How you mock!" And Glorfindel replied wittily: "As the day turns to night." It was sealed with a quick smile.

                How glorious the scene looked. Two beautiful creatures jesting, mocking one another under arches which vines crawled and a yellow-tinted sky. It was passionate, simple, intricate, perfect, flawed, dead, and alive. Immortal.

                Whereupon, the Elf lord thusly retrieved a fine, ruby robe. It was gloriously made, and it seemed so uncomplicated, but indeed, it was the finest of Glorfindel's apparel. And he clad himself in simple red leggings. For addition, a darker red cloak was added. It was not a cloak of battle, stained and tarried with the skirmish of mortals and immortals alike, but rich and velvet. And what the lord adored most about the cloak was that no blood stained it. He envied any of his garments which did not show of blood.

                His complexion was smooth and pale. His eyes were dark, gray, alike the clouds progressing into a long sunset. They were nearly blue, but not the rich blue in Paldun's eyes, it was the sorrowful, aching blue of misery and lonesomeness. The lord's cheek bones were high, but not bold, and he owned a rather strong face. His nose was long and thin, and it appeared his lips were thin as well. Sometimes they curved in rather a mocking shape. And when he laughed, o! he looked hugely mocking. Glorfindel had to be careful of whom he laughed with, for they may take it the wrong way.

                Nonetheless, he was beautiful. He was immortal. And age only added to his beauty.

                Paldun looked handsome, though he could not quite match Lord Glorfindel's comeliness. He was clad in a dark blue robe, which was slightly shorter than his knees. And below his fine garment, were navy leggings. His dark blonde hair was carelessly tossed behind his shoulders, and his shimmering eyes were bright. He smiled as he saw Glorfindel appear before him. Glorfindel was exquisite, as always. Even in battle did he look exquisite.

                "My friend, how divine you look," Glorfindel commented.

                "And indeed, you shall have pretty maidens all over you!" The Elf innocently laughed. His eyes seemed to be radiating. "I think Lord Elrond will want us to arrive slightly early, do you not agree, my good lord?"

                "Oh, but of course." And the two handsome being were off.

                Glorfindel declared the beginning of any such balls, banquets, or feasts, the most joyous. Anticipation was growing inside him. He was walking alone in the magnificent, open corridors of Lord Elrond's halls. It was nearly dusk. The visible sun was now behind the crests yonder, and only a silent flicker of yellow came between the clouds. The humidity did no longer exist, which was quite the miracle. A darkness from the east slowly transgressed into view, but the sun's dying rays were still visible.

                He peered out the vacant window. He was in strange breathlessness.

                "My dear Glorfindel! The minstrels and troubadours have arrived! Come, come, for the guests are also arriving," spoke Lord Elrond. His voice was ecstatic, as though he had never felt war. But he had, just not as strongly as the Elf beside him. He knew it; too, he knew it when he looked into Glorfindel's gloomy eyes. From his eyes, he could see two upon horseback in the shadows of sunset. They were dark beasts, and he could scarcely tell if they were either very deep in gray or black as sin.

                The two riders dismounted, nay, there were but three. A child of perhaps ten or eleven appeared behind a large silhouette.

                Lord Elrond is right, perhaps it is time to enjoy myself. The guests are arriving. I must go. The guests are coming. They are here. He repeated in his head, almost madly.

                At last, he could hear the sweet music of the musicians in the indoor courtyard. There were plants everywhere, vines curling about the columns and windows. The floor was a rich, shiny cobblestone, which stretched for a large portion of the flat. The musicians were places on a slightly raised platform and below the platform lay majestic arch doorways to the dinning hall.

                Oh what beauty lay here!

                The party of riders appeared before Glorfindel. He was unaware of their presence, but he swiftly seized the moment and said thus: "My friends, it is a pleasure to see you at Lord Elrond's court. I see you are the first to arrive, so in good time, Elrond will indeed want to meet you."

                The handsome, gruff man groaned, a deep soul groan, "Well, thank you, my good lord." And he walked on. Following him were two maidens. Firstly, a gorgeous woman of sharp, drawn features walked past him. She smiled. Her hair was long and golden, her eyes, though, were almost black and face slender. Then followed a pretty little girl, only ten mayhap, with a thick mane of dark blonde hair and eyes of intense hazel. She was rather short, even for a young girl. Glorfindel concluded that she may be too pretty to be called beautiful or mysterious when she was to grow into a woman. Then again, she was but a child.

                They were highly dressed, all rich in robes and jewelry, even the youngest.

                They were mortals.

                The man was actually rather rude. Glorfindel then asked: "And why, sire, has Lord Elrond beckoned you to come? From whence do you come?"

                And he replied tartly: "Good lord, my daughter, Galawen, has found a husband. Surely you know him. I speak of Erchirion, son of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. And tell me not that he has not come, for my family and I were indeed invited. What a foul game to play if that was not the case. We come from the great City of Gondor, my lord, past these hills of Rivendell. We come from the City of Peril and the City which is under siege constantly. We come from our grim homes."

                Glorfindel was satisfied, not by the bitterness of his response, but the bravery of this man to speak such ill words to him. He almost smiled, despite it all, though he could not quite manufacture a smile without seeming cynical. The Elf could tell this man was hot tempered, rather shrewd and he pondered if he two daughters were alike him. Finally, the sun's rays were completely gone. Shadows from the walls of the magnificent courtyard lay upon the cobblestones, yet only slightly. In night, they would grow darker and larger.

                The man, of whom he did not know the name of and had no delight in asking, walked on, seeking the counsel of Elrond. His solemn daughters followed.

                Progressing into the night, the courtyard was filled with guests. Elves had arrived upon horseback, always stately, glowing, and magnificent. Men had arrived by carriages and horses, coming by the families, it seemed. The lords and ladies were furthermore socializing. They were talking amongst themselves, some flirting, some debating, others mayhap just chatting. It was so fitting to see the races unite, and willingly, as well. If this could only be magnified, we could fight the Darkness which sweeps the land of sweetness and just. 

                Suddenly, as the music ceased, Elrond appeared from the candle lit passageways. He was the most regal being of the whole ball. Servants and cooks, who had scurried around to keep the guests occupied, had stopped. Everything was deathly silent. And the magnificent Elrond spoke thus: "Good citizens! I welcome you to this wonderful gathering. I have long awaited seeing you all again. My, my, have times changed." There were nods and faint 'yes's' throughout the crowd. "Indeed, times are changing. But nonetheless, I shall still hold these balls, my friends! And I hold this one in recognition to those who have protected us from these ghastly of times. I dedicate this ball to the soldiers of all kingdoms. I dedicate this gathering to those who have sacrificed to help us. What bravery and gallantry they have shown," his eyes pierced Glorfindel's, "Now, let us continue!"

                "Aye!" The crowd roared, some holding up the wine chalices. The Lords with their Ladies, the children playing games in the open grass flats, the start of the music once more, the obvious state of happiness and bliss is all that could be identified within this feast. It was the best feeling mortals and immortals alike have endured in a long time.

                It was then Lord Elrond approached his companion. Indeed, he was the most regal of them all. "Are you enjoying yourself, Lord Glorfindel? Why have not you spoken with any of our guests? You surely are dressed handsome enough and have the wit to outlast many beings."

                "I shall find time to speak, my lord," was his reply.


End file.
